


Carry That Weight

by Haleykim84 (tristen84)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristen84/pseuds/Haleykim84
Summary: Keith, Lance and Coran are out on a trade mission to acquire an essential part for the Castleship. Their mission goes south when Keith is mistaken for a rare, valuable species.





	Carry That Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo.
> 
> A very special thank you to Black Friar for the excellent beta!

"Ah, now this is what I call a real swap moon!"

Lance gaped at the dilapidated buildings lining the crowded marketplace and the unsavory looking characters roaming around. "Whaaaaat?! Coran, what the hell is this? This does _not_ look like the last spacemall we went to!"

"Right you are, Lance, none of that fancy stuff here. This is where the real swash-buckling space pirates do business," Coran said, puffing out his chest.

Lance swallowed. "Real space pirates? As in, won't hesitate to slit your throat space pirates? Great."

"Well, yes. But not to worry, some of the most beautiful women I've ever seen were pirates," Coran said, pounding Lance heartily on the back.

"Beautiful women?" Lance perked up immediately. "Really? What did they look-"

"Can we just get this over with?" Keith interrupted from Coran's other side, familiar frown in place.

Lance scowled and turned to Coran. "Okay, why did we bring Mister Party-pooper again?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Keith.

Keith's scowl deepened and he crossed his arms. "We need that chrystal converter or whatever, or the castle's dead in the water. _Remember?_ "

"The Chryssalix-converter," Coran corrected. "And you are both here for my protection. Keith's right, we should get a move-on. I suggest we go for a stroll and see if any of the shops or stalls have what we need."

Lance huffed. If he'd known they wouldn't be shopping at an actual spacemall he never would've volunteered for this mission, especially knowing the Mullet was coming along too. "Fine."

It took a while, but eventually Coran spotted what they needed in a trade shop in an alley off the main market square.

The shop owner was a Talaxian, a humanoid biped with three eyes, a flat nose, pointy ears and a yellow mohawk. Minus the spectacular hairdo he was about the same height as Coran, and didn't seem like much of a threat. It was the two burly aliens standing on either side of the Talaxian that were making Lance nervous. They were Morvakinas…Morkovinas…Morkovinians? Whatever. Big, hairy, werewolf-type aliens. Not the friendliest species they'd ever encountered. Or the most pleasant-smelling.

A quick glance told him Keith, too, was on his guard, his hand twitching near the knife he had hidden beneath his t-shirt.

They had come in their regular clothes, rather than in their paladin armor so as not to draw too much attention. Lance had his bayard concealed in the pocket of his hoodie, while Keith had opted for his Galra blade. Unfortunately, knowing they had weapons on them didn't do much to dispel Lance's nerves and he kept an eye on the muscle flanking the shop owner.

The Talaxian was proving a difficult sell. In fact, the shop owner seemed kind of…distracted? He was facing Coran, but his third eye kept straying towards Keith. Which…was kinda weird.

"1350 GAC and I'll throw in a pair of Pormese tuplets. That's my final offer."

"No deal." The Talaxian leaned his elbows on the counter and steepled his fingers. "But I'll make you a counter-offer. I will trade you the Chryssalix-converter for your Ovient," he said, with a nod at Keith.

Lance felt his eyebrows climb almost into his hairline as he glanced at Keith, who had visibly stiffened.

"Uh…our what now?" Lance blurted, turning back to the Talaxian.

"Your Ovient," the Talaxian repeated, pointing a long-nailed finger at Keith.

Keith's shoulders tensed, his eyebrows drawn in a heavy scowl. "I'm not a-"

"He's NOT an Ovient," Coran interrupted. The sudden grim look on his face made Lance reach for his bayard, still tucked away in his pocket. His fingers closed around the handle, but he didn't draw it out. Not yet.

"Do not take me for a fool," the Talaxian snarled as he pressed a button on the counter. A flickering image appeared in front of them, rotating lazily. The man waved a hand to enlarge it, and Lance squinted at it.

The alien staring back at him had surprisingly human features; if Lance didn't know any better he might have thought he was looking at an actual human. He leaned in to get a closer look.

Jet-black hair, big, slightly slanted eyes, pointed chin and pale skin, lean, delicate fea- okay, maybe he could vaguely see the resemblance to Keith.

"He might not be a full-blooded Ovient, but it's close enough," the Talaxian said. "There are very few untarnished Ovients remaining anyway. I have a client who collects Ovients. This specimen is worth at least three Chryssalix-converters. You would be a fool not to trade him."

Okay, now that guy was talking about Keith like he was a thing to be put on display at a museum or something and it was totally rubbing Lance the wrong way. Keith might not be his favorite person, but the way the Talaxian kept looking at him was creeping him out. He tightened the grip on his bayard.

"Out of the question," Coran said. "1350 GAC and the Pormese tuplets for the Chryssalix-converter," Coran said. "Take it or leave it."

The Talaxian steepled his fingers again, all three eyes staring at Keith this time. It made the hair on Lance's arms stand up, and he inched a little closer to Keith.

"I will only accept your Ovient as payment."

"Then we shall take our coin satchels elsewhere," Coran said decisively.

The Talaxian's guard dogs growled.

"Refusal would be unwise," the shopkeeper said, as the two Morkovikans lurched forward.

Lance whipped out his bayard, and Keith shifted half in front of Coran, his Marmora blade raised in a defensive posture.

"As you can see," Coran said, "it would be more unwise for you to threaten us."

For a moment they just stared at each other, the two bodyguards still growling low in their throats. Sweat prickled Lance's back as he steeled himself for a fight.

But then the Talaxian hissed something at his two goons, and they immediately stood down.

Lance suppressed a relieved sigh.

"You'll have to find your Chryssalix-converter elsewhere, Altean," the Talaxian said, all three eyes on Coran now. "If you can. Those converters are rare."

Coran raised his chin. "We'll make do."

They backed away, Lance taking the rear and watching their backs all the way to the door. He didn't deactivate his bayard until they were back out in the main market square.

"Holy Quiznak," he breathed, putting his bayard away. "I thought we were gonna have to fight our way out."

"Me too," Keith admitted.

Lance glanced at him and was surprised to find him looking a little frustrated.

"I'm sorry," Keith said, and Lance's eyebrows rose even higher.

"Whatever for?" Coran asked him, sounding equally surprised.

Keith folded his arms across his chest and looked at the ground with a frown. "Maybe if I hadn't been there, he would've let you buy the converter."

"Nonsense, my boy," Coran said, placing a fatherly hand on Keith's shoulder. "This wasn't your fault. That man's apparent obsession with Ovients had nothing to do with you. It's a simple case of wishful thinking on his part."

"What even is an Ovient?" Lance asked. "That alien he showed in that image did kinda look like Keith a little bit."

"The Ovient are a species whose world was destroyed eons ago. They are empaths and said to be highly sensual beings. They're extremely rare, mythological almost, and as such are very valuable on the slave market."

Lance froze. Slave market? And that guy had wanted them to trade Keith? God.

"I suppose Keith does share some physical traits with them," Coran continued, oblivious, "but Ovients are much, much taller. Plus, they have scalier skin and gills behind the ears, which I'm quite sure Keith doesn't have."

Keith's shoulders relaxed a little. "So…what are we going to do? How are we going to find another converter?"

"We'll just have to look harder. Perhaps—"

_BOOM!_

The ground shook, people screamed and Lance's bayard materialized in his hand without conscious thought. He dove for cover, trying to avoid getting trampled by a panicking crowd. Coughing at the dust settling in his lungs, he glanced around wildly for Keith and Coran.

"Thank Quiznak," he muttered when he spotted the both of them ducking behind a table two stalls over. Then Keith yelled something at him Lance didn't catch, and darted from his hiding place to run towards the source of what Lance assumed had been an explosion.

"Wait, Keith!" Lance called, but Keith either ignored him or didn't hear him and kept going. Lance rolled his eyes. Of course Keith would run _towards_ the danger. Grumbling under his breath, Lance left the safety of his own shelter and followed. Keith might be an awful team-player, but Lance wasn't, and he'd be damned if he let the dumb Mullet go in without back-up.

"Right behind you, Lance!" Coran hollered.

With great effort they managed to dodge most of the stragglers still milling about the market square, though they couldn't avoid a collision or two. Lance had long lost sight of Keith, but he figured he couldn't be too far ahead of them.

The smoke billowing from whatever had set off the explosion was beginning to dissipate, though Lance's eyes still stung, and it wasn't hard to locate the source.

It was a dumpster. Or this planet's equivalent of a dumpster.

A small fire raged inside it and bits of debris were scattered around the burning container. It looked to Lance like someone had tried to blow it up.

"Good to know vandalism is a universal thing," Lance muttered to Coran. "At least nobody got hurt. Seriously, why would you blow up a dumpster of all things? And in a crowded area too? People could've been hurt or trampled!"

Instead of answering, Coran gripped his arm. "Lance," he said urgently. "Lance, where's Keith?"

Keith? Unease seized his gut. Lance glanced around, heart suddenly pounding, hoping to spot the familiar red jacket somewhere, but there was no sign of him. His stomach plummeted.

Oh no. No, no, no, no.

Blowing up a dumpster wasn't an act of vandalism – it was a distraction. This whole thing was a trap.

And they'd walked right into it.

oOo

Keith's shoulders hurt. And his wrists…they were burning.

His head hurt too, like someone had whacked him with a stick. The skin around his left eye felt hot and tight.

What…what happened?

He vaguely recalled being on a trading mission with Lance and Coran, and…they'd had an argument with a shopkeeper with a mohawk? And then…then there'd been an explosion or something…

Everything beyond that was even foggier. He remembered a sudden blinding headache, hands dragging him somewhere…darkness. And then there'd been voices, rough hands again, pain in his arm and then more darkness.

Not a lot to go on.

Something was covering his eyes, he realized when he opened them, the rough material further irritating the already inflamed skin there. Cloth had been pulled tight between his teeth too, effectively silencing him.

Not good.

He frowned and tried to move, with limited effect. Something solid pressed against his back – a wall? The clinking of chains above him finally penetrated the fog in his brain, and he realized why his shoulders were aching: he was hanging from his wrists. He immediately tried to get his feet under him to alleviate the pain, and was relieved to find he was able to stand on his tiptoes.

What the hell was going on? Where was he? And where were Lance and Coran? Had they been captured too?

God, he was thirsty.

The sound of a door swishing open made his head jerk up, a sudden breeze making him shiver. His jacket was gone. He was chained up in just his jeans and t-shirt. Vulnerable. Helpless.

Heavy footsteps approached, making Keith's heart thunder in his chest. He flexed his arms and gripped the chains above him, giving him the leverage to kick out with both legs. He missed.

Whoever was in the room with him chuckled. "You are feisty, small one."

The voice was low and gravelly, likely male, and it seemed to come from somewhere above him and to his left.

Keith immediately adjusted his aim and lashed out again. This time his foot did connect with something. There was a low grunt, before his ankle was caught in a large, steel grip.

"Enough," the man hissed.

The grip on Keith's ankle shifted; there was a crunch, and then Keith was howling into the gag as white-hot pain lanced up his leg. Reeling from the pain and trying to catch his breath, he cried out when the man in front of him grabbed him by the back of his thighs and pulled him close.

The heat from the other man's breath wafted over his face. Their chests were touching, and Keith bit down on the gag to keep from panicking.

Something brushed his cheek, and Keith jerked his head away, but the touch followed him. Thick, calloused fingers ran over his skin, his lips, his eyebrows.

Then the blindfold was removed.

Keith stared up into deep-set, black eyes in a waxy face with heavy eyebrow ridges and a square jaw like Frankenstein's monster.

"You are not an Ovient," the man said, breath whispering across Keith's face. "There are certain…features you lack." He carded his fingers through Keith's hair. "But you are very beautiful. I will enjoy our time together regardless."

And that's when the man's hands slid under his shirt.

Keith's breath picked up and he bit down harder on the gag.

His shirt was tugged up and the man took his time exploring Keith's skin with one hand, squeezing, leaving bruises everywhere his fat fingers went, while keeping him close with the other.

"So soft," the man murmured, then paused. "A male species that has nipples?" he wondered aloud as he rubbed at them. "Interesting."

Keith growled, twisted and jerked and tried to knee him in the groin, but the man held fast and there was no room for him to maneuver.

Finally, the man grabbed him by the hips and spun him around, making his chained arms twist painfully, shoving him face-first against the wall and pinning him there. He pressed in close. Too close.

Panic surged like a tidal wave and Keith screamed, struggling to get the stifling weight that was pushing against him off. But the man held him down, grinding his hips against him, and suddenly Keith was suffocating, like he couldn't draw in enough air fast enough.

_Get off, get off, GET OFF!_

Nausea was beginning to overwhelm him as every touch sent shockwaves of revulsion through him. Then the man's hand found its way past the waistband of his jeans and- _oh god, NO!_

"Get your filthy hands off of him, you big brute!"

The next thing Keith knew, the hands were gone, and so was the heavy weight that had been pinning him to the wall. There was a rush of movement around him, then a scuffle and yelling, before someone shouted, "Lance, get in here!"

Keith turned back around and struggled to focus on what was happening, but his breaths were coming in short, labored gasps.

_Calm down, Kogane. Get a grip! Calm down--_

"Keith!"

The next thing he knew, Coran was standing in front of him.

"Keith, are you all right? Hang on, my boy, I'll have you out of this in a tic."

Coran reached behind him to remove the gag, then got to work on the restraints still chaining him to the ceiling. It took a few moments, during which Keith desperately fought to get his breathing back under control.

Both his wrists were released at the same time, and he cried out as he came down on his bad leg. Coran caught him around the waist, saving him from crashing to the floor.

"I've got you, my boy, I've got you," Coran said, as he gently lowered Keith to a sit.

Keith wrapped his arms around himself, still struggling to pull in a proper breath. There was still a commotion going on around him, and he tried to see where his attacker was, but then Coran was kneeling before him, hands hovering close.

 "Breathe, Number Four, breathe," he said gently, calm. "It's all right, Lance is taking care of that monster. You're safe now. Breathe."

Keith clung to Coran's calm voice, and with the help of some of the breathing techniques Shiro had taught him when he was younger, he eventually managed to get his breathing back under control.

"There you go, that's it," Coran told him. "Keith…I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

Keith nodded reflexively, before glancing up and immediately looking away again, his cheeks burning. "Please don't tell anyone," he whispered.

"My dear boy, you have nothing to be ashamed of," Coran said, the raw compassion in his voice making something curl in Keith's chest. "But if you want me to keep it a secret, I will."

"Thanks."

"Holy freaking Quiznak!" Lance exclaimed, appearing at Coran's elbow and startling Keith. "What happened? What the hell did that freak do? Is Keith okay?"

Keith opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"He's a bit shaken up, but all right, I think," Coran answered for him instead.

Something dropped onto his shoulders, and Keith jerked, heart rate immediately spiking.

"Sorry," Lance said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I uh…found your jacket."

Oh.

He couldn't find his words, but Keith shrugged into his jacket gratefully. It made him feel marginally better.

"Keith?" Coran asked. "Can you walk?"

Keith tested his ankle, but hot pain flared up immediately, so he shook his head.

"That's all right. We'll lend you a hand."

   
oOo

  
The crunch of metal as he took down his tenth and eleventh training gladiator of the day was extremely satisfying. Keith wiped an arm across his forehead and was just readying himself for the next opponent when the training room door opened and Coran stuck his head inside.

"Am I interrupting?"

Keith bit his tongue on his initial response – it would have been honest but rude – and shrugged instead. "End training sequence."

Coran smiled and walked in with a tall cup in hand. "Hunk asked me to bring you one of those…milkshakes, I think you call them?"

Keith nodded, accepting the beverage before sinking to the floor and leaning back against the wall. "Thanks, Coran."

"My pleasure, Number Four. Mind if I join you?"

Keith shrugged again and Coran took it as an invitation to sit beside him. Keith sipped his drink and waited, shoulders tense, carefully avoiding Coran's gaze.

Coran crossed his legs. "How is your ankle doing?"

"It's fine, good as new."

"Glad to hear it," Coran said. He was silent for a moment and stroked his mustache. "Did you hear about the Chryssalix-converter?"

That…wasn't the question Keith had been expecting. "Uh…no?" He'd completely forgotten about it.

"Hunk thinks he can cobble together a temporary fix that will at least allow us to wormhole to the Lorenta system, where we can have it replaced by someone I trust."

"That's good news."

"It is, isn’t it?"

They lapsed into awkward silence.

Finally, Coran turned to him. "Keith, are you all right?"

 _That_ was the question Keith had been expecting. His hand clenched around his milkshake cup. "I'm fine."

"The others are all very worried about you, you know?" Coran said. "Shiro especially. He'll wear a hole in the floor of the control room if he keeps up his pacing."

Despite himself, Keith's lips quirked up slightly. "I know. He's been by four times in the past two hours. I just- I need some space." He glanced over at Coran before returning his gaze to his knees. "You- you didn't tell them, did you? About- about what happened."

"Of course not!" Coran exclaimed. "That is your story to tell, if and when you are ready to tell it. All they know is that you were captured. Lance knows slightly more, of course, but as far as I know he hasn't said anything." Coran gave him a sidelong glance. "I fear Shiro might suspect something, however."

Keith cringed. Shiro could read his body language better than anyone, and Keith had probably been broadcasting his emotions pretty loudly. He set his half-empty cup aside and crossed his arms.

Coran turned to him. "Keith, I'm sorry this happened to you."

Keith gripped his arms tighter. "Wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't your fault either."

Keith gnashed his teeth. He was done talking. "Look, Coran, I'll be fine, okay?" He took a deep breath and got to his feet. "Just- just let me beat up some training bots for a while. Get it out of my system."

Coran stood up too. "Very well, I understand. But, Keith, I want you to know you can always come to me if you need to talk."

"Okay. Thanks."

Coran raised his hand, looking like he wanted to reach out, but then thought better of it. "Right then, I'll leave you to it. Don't wear yourself out too much, Number Four," he said, lightening his previous tone. "Allura has informed me she has a rather grueling training exercise planned for tomorrow morning. Can't have our Red Paladin snoring on the job, eh?"

Keith's shoulders relaxed a bit, and he managed a small smile. "Don't worry, I won't."

Coran nodded and turned towards the door. Keith didn't miss the slightly slumped shoulders.

"Coran?"

"Yes, Keith?"

"Thanks. For- uh. The milkshake."

Coran smiled, straightening up a little. "You are most welcome, my boy."

Keith returned Coran's bright smile with a small one of his own, then waited for the door to close behind the Altean before reactivating his bayard.

"Start training sequence Red Paladin F-zero three."

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this bingo fic was attempted rape with Coran as the rescuer and comforter for Keith.
> 
> Title brought to you by: The Beatles.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are hugely appreciated :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr! http://haleykim84.tumblr.com/
> 
> Come say hi :)


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